


The Immortals

by Iblametumblrformyproblems



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, French Revolution, Multi, Shapeshifting, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Time Travel, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-03-26 18:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19011637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iblametumblrformyproblems/pseuds/Iblametumblrformyproblems
Summary: If you could have a soulmate, yet spend centuries searching for them, would you? Is it worth traveling the world in search of something you can't even remember in the slim chance you might cross paths once more?Or do you stay with your previous mate, comfortable that your heart will never truly be his again.This fic will be full of time jumps and interesting scenarios, as well as (hopefully) a fresh take on vampiric soulmates. Intrigue, spectacle, sex, love, violence, blood, and more. I hope you enjoy.





	1. Versailles -1789

Versailles, Paris - April 27, 1789

  
  


The streets of France were running rancid with the stench of decaying bodies, as more poor starved to death overnight. Those who managed to survive were too weak to carry their dead any longer as the new bodies mixed with the old in the catacombs being built beneath the streets of Paris. A fierce anger ran alongside hunger in the eyes of everyone. This was a city on the brink of revolution.

 

But you had not come as a savior. Nor would you know what quite drew you to Paris in such a time as this, but you would follow the call in your heart once more. It never left you in uninteresting situations. Fortunately, there was good company to be had in Versailles. 

 

Under the cover of nightfall, your carriage crept into the gates of the palace. The French Court was either asleep or up to nefarious comings and goings at this late a time, but the intended personage was more than prepared for your entrance. After all, this was your time to flourish. 

 

Immediately as the six horses drawing your carriage came to a stop simultaneously, a rather ridiculous spectacle of royal servants made their way to service your needs. It would have been laughable if it hadn’t been exasperating. Only mortals would require such fanfare in their pathetically short life. 

 

You ignored their help altogether, instead opting to sweep out of the carriage in one graceful jump, landing on the first step to the entrance of the palace. The servants attempted to keep up, but they fell behind easily. The smell that permeated such an absurdly extravagant place was indescribable.  Fortunately, one scent drowned the rest out. 

 

In less than a minute, you’d managed to traverse many floors and rooms, landing yourself directly in front of your intended company.  But just as you knew him, he knew you. There was no hiding from each other in the same city, much less the same house, even if it was the palace of Versailles.

 

Michael sipped nonchalantly at his wine glass, the red liquid staining his mouth brilliantly. A second glass sat at the small tea table next to him, clearly intended for you. 

 

“I see you have finally found your way here, pet,” he greeted with a small nod. Gorgeous as ever and still ageless, he stood with more royalty than any of the French Court could muster. Your king and friend, still your bones called you to bow. 

 

But you’d long ago learned to resist. “Michael.” You acknowledged, nodding back just as resolutely. It had been quite a while since you’d seen him, yet there was no denying the feelings he brought forth. Like nostalgia… or a childhood friend… or something deeply more. 

 

“It seems you’ve finally found a home worthy of your grandeur,” you continued, gesturing to the gold plated walls and high decorative ceilings. “If only you’d cleaned out the stench of the mortals.”

 

“They serve their purpose,” he answered, waving you off. “This certainly is a disgusting era to be sure, but after England and the plague, this is almost nothing.”

 

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, remembering back. “Don’t remind me. There was nowhere the smell did not drift to eventually. And yet, these people still cannot think to bathe regularly.”

 

Michael chuckled softly, the corned of his mouth just barely tipping upwards. It gave you but a second to observe him, taking in the garb he chose for this new world he’d constructed. 

 

Compared to the rest of the French Court, one may have called his clothing “simple”. But upon closer inspection, the material was clearly egyption cotton, silk, and pure gold. The clothing was in the relative style of the period, but he didn’t appear uncomfortable as the peacocks that would strut their wealth around. No, he simply combined wealth and comfort into the perfect symbiosis. His hair was cut short, an anomaly to those around him, but that’s how Michael preferred it, Wigless and without hassle. And there he stood, both fitting in and standing out all at once. For a king could never truly disappear in a crowd. 

 

You grabbed your wine glass about a second after he noticed your perusal. Though he would have seen it either way in retrospect. Taking a sip, you relished in the warm copper that slipped down your throat deliciously, waking the whole of your being like a shot of adrenaline. This was no blood of a starving peasant. 

 

“Feeding on the Court, I presume?” You asked, arching your brow at him. How… unexpected. 

 

Michael sipped at his own glass, savoring the flavor. “Not just any of the royalty, pet. Flavor this pure only come from a lifelong pampered mortal. And we have a wonderful option available in my dear Marie.”

 

“The princess?” You admonished, surprised. “That child put to blame for a homosexual husband who will not bed her?”

 

“Do not presume to know how Versailles runs, pet. It is a delicate situation as is, and I am simply taking advantage of a preference,” he rebuked and explained simultaneously. 

 

If you were any other vampire, you’d have stopped there, but the relationship you maintained with Michael allowed for leniency. “And is that why the people starve? On your command?” 

 

He sighed deeply, setting his glass down on the table before looking you in the eye. “What would I have to gain in causing peasant pain? It is neither my intent nor my doing that the people of France suffer. And you should know me better than to assume I should be so foolish.”

 

“Then does the so called King of France make orders against your will?” You challenged, undeterred by the threat that hung in the air. “Do you give up rule to foolish mortals for their amusement?”

 

With a crack, you were suddenly against the far wall, which cracked beneath the pressure of the blow. MIchael pressed right against you, holding you in place with his immense strength. An ache went up in your pelvis, whether from desire or pain you did not know.

 

And yet, he did not seem angry, his emotions kept deep under his mask. “There is nothing that happens in Versailles that I do not see. Take a deep smell of the grounds, pet. Do you not recognize the scent of our kind? Over 90% of the inhabitants on these grounds are our people. And together we feed on the rest. Versailles is not stealing food from the lower classes, nor are they driving up prices,” Michael divulged, a hint of a growl seeping through his tone. it would have been noticeable if you were not you. 

 

“Then is it our war causing their pain as a way to drive you out?” You asked, eyes softening to a plead in his arms. In that moment, you could almost feel a part of your heart reaching to his, like a severed arm searching for its body, like coming home and need. 

 

He almost softened himself, a look of longing coming over his features but for just a flash, for as it seemed the severed connection tried to connect once more, it immediately failed. The distance remained and he hardened immediately. “One can only assume. For the only people who would benefit from a revolt would be those who want to switch the hands of power.” 

 

“Maybe I should have never come to Paris. The Americas are beautiful at this time, so ripe and full of the wild lives,” you thought outloud, loneliness consuming you. 

 

Michael leaned forward, resting his head against your own. “Then why did you come? Why not continue your journey through our world like the wraith you’ve become over the last centuries?”

 

“I don’t know, Michael,” you whispered. “I am following the call in my being. There is something my soul is searching for desperately, and I will be lost until I find it. I have no more control over where I go then you have control over the starving of peasants. The calling said go to Paris and so, I find myself here.”

 

“Then perhaps we shall enjoy your presence for the moment it lingers,” he answered softly before pulling away from you, almost reluctantly. His guard was up immediately as if he never showed a kink in his armor. Such a perfect facade for the immortal king. 

 

“A ball is in order, pet,” Michael said, leaving no room for argument. “What better way to celebrate the wandering queen than with a homecoming like no other. We shall show you all the splendor Versailles has to offer.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The hour was approaching. Another fight was coming and the changlings were prepared to wage battle. They would usurp the false king, even if the fight took centuries. 

 

Thomas prepared for the ball by kidnapping a rather handsome young man of the court. He needed to know exactly what he would change into and what he would be expected to wear if he was to survive the night. And it would be a lie to say he did not enjoy taking the life of the foolish boy. But it was a necessary evil. 

 

And as he entered the splendor of the palace that evening, he was completely unprepared for the beauty the awaited him there. 

 

It wasn’t the vaulted ceilings with their detailed paintings that gave him pause, nor the grandeur of all the wealth Paris had to offer that was flaunted on the bodies of clumsy humans. It wasn’t even the distinct smell of blood in the air. 

 

No, it was her, the one he had been running from for centuries, the one his heart longed for all the more in the distance, the one who always managed to find him…

 

He was in deep shit. 


	2. Playing Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another chapter for you. I plan on having lots of time jumps, backstory, and much more involved in this complex story, but I hope you all can keep up. If I need to change formats to make things a bit easier, just let me know! 
> 
> In the next chapters, we will see more interaction between Tom and the reader, but now just gives a little more hint of backstory and longing from a distance. Hope you enjoy! All comments, concerns, etc are loved and welcome!

The immortals chapter 2

 

A ball among the court of Versailles was nothing to be scoffed at, if simply for amusement. There was wealth and finery to be had on every pompous peacock that flaunted their wealth in a silent battle of social importance. Great gowns and wigs, with absurd decorations all around, danced through the rather exhausting room. And this was supposedly the pinnacle of fashion in the modern world. 

 

How, you mused silently, could anyone find the hilarity of women in dresses larger than dinner tables the height of fashion? Here, where matted hair was fashionable and makeup was caked layer upon layer. Versailles… the castle full of jesters who managed to gain power. 

 

No matter. The only purpose for such an intimate viewing of France's wealth was to prepare for the night. A breath away from the real enjoyment that could be had once most of these mortals were tucked in their beds. And for those among your kind, it was a time to choose your dinner. 

 

As you surveyed the crowd, all eagerly looking towards the acclaimed Wandering Queen, you had yet to find any prey that was not completely repugnant to you. But the ball was still in its infancy. So hope may yet still be on the horizon. 

 

Michael escorted you toward the far side of the room where a great throne sat waiting for the King and Queen. But Louis and Marie stood among the rest, taking in the splendor of true royalty. In that moment, to all who saw the pair of you, there was no denying who the true King of France was. 

 

And yet, as the crowd parted in front of you, taking in your scarlet red silk, and gold sown into the many intricate designs, and your unearthly features unaccompanied by makeup or wigs, something caught your attention. Perhaps it was a scent, like fresh water after a full day in the blistering sun. Perhaps it was the feeling of home that relaxed your shoulders. Perhaps it was the memory of a taste, something close enough to a craving yet like trying to taste something you've only heard described. 

 

Whatever the cause, you found yourself spinning in place until your eyes met those of a man you'd never met in your life. And yet, he felt familiar all the same. It took every ounce of your being not to immediately run to his side, spurred on by the strange need overtaking you. 

 

You felt a hand encompass yours, the one that happened to rest in the crook of Michael's arm. Looking away reluctantly, you met his questioning gaze with a reassuring nod. There would be a time for discovery later. 

 

So together, you took your place at the head of the ball, finally allowing for the festivities to continue. And for all the humans in attendance, it was like the spell broke, and no longer was the strange couple so mesmerizing. Talking, dancing, and music started up almost immediately, like a well trained orchestra. And you thoroughly admired Michael's subtle manipulation of an entire room.

 

"It seems you've already chosen your pet tonight," Michael chuckled, catching your attention. "I admit, I don't quite see what drew you to that specific mortal." 

 

You looked back at the man who kept drawing your unconscious gaze, a hunger flowing through you. "I am as surprised as you are, I assure you," you answered.

 

The man fit in as well as any other mortal in the room, complete with a wig and fanciful clothing. And yet, he was nowhere near as repugnant as the others in attendance. In fact, it took much of your willpower not to leave your place and join his side. 

 

Michael gestured for the attention of a woman not far from the throne. She responded promptly and with a reverence you approved. 

 

"My king," she greeted with a low curtsy. "How may I be of service to you?"

 

Michael gestured to the man who was holding your attention. "What information do you have on him? Is he a suitable pet for tonight or will his position require his presence by tomorrow's eve?"

 

"I believe he is a simple Duke, my king. Power in title only and money inherited through his father." The women commented immediately, clearly well versed on all who dared come to the celebration. 

 

Michael turned back toward you, determining in a moment your desires. “Then add him to our list of guest for the evening. It appears he will make the perfect addition.”

 

Inwardly, you found yourself cringing at the thought of this mysterious man being brought in with the others, like cattle for the hunger of immortals. But the feelings remained improper and unfounded, so you set them aside. His life wasn’t in danger. No, he wouldn’t even fight the pleasures afforded to him this night. But still, a creeping, sickening feeling began to build in your stomach of him being shared among the many in attendance. 

 

Perhaps you were just being selfish. Maybe you hadn’t eaten well enough in recent days, causing a stirring in the depths of your creature side. A possessiveness that rarely reared its head arose, and you immediately squashed it down. It was not wise to give way to the beast. 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
  


Tom

  
  


The ball was a splendid affair, filled with more finery and pompousness than could be found in the entirety of the civilized world. Despite the desire to rudely wave away any who dared to approach him with gossip and foolery, his training was rigorously applied to keep his manners eloquent. Even to the most undesirable.

 

Thomas hated this piece of the war. The infiltrating and face changing for the sake of assassinations, like back door attempts to change the hands of power instead of true warfare. Many of his kind would disagree, prompting discussion on what exactly the race of face changers were supposed to do with their power, if not for missions such as these. It felt cowardly to him. Yet, necessity ruled in a war that spanned millenniums.

 

This night may very well end everything if his time was successful. But before he could contemplate victory and what that would mean for the world,  _ she  _ caught his gaze once more. Not even the strength of his hatred for the false king could tear him away from her gaze. 

 

She was lovely, as always. No matter how much time had passed, she remained the same, still beautiful, still indescribable, still terrifying. She was not ashamed of her features, made perfect like a marble sculpture, and carried herself with such confidence, no fool would approach her. And yet, she seemed burdened by her age, as if time itself had wore on what was left of her soul. 

 

And there, underneath the calculations that whirled in his mind, was the same draw, the same hunger, that came with every moment he laid eyes on her. She, the blasphemy of a woman, the wandering queen, was his deepest secret and his shameful desire. No matter what form, he could not deny the draw of something deep that seemed to focus only on her. 

 

If his superiors had known, the most certainly would determine him unfit for the army, possibly killed or forced to go through… “Retraining”, that thing that only those who fell under the spell of the enemy were made to endure. Those who went through it often came out ghosts of themselves, resorting to pure hatred for all enemy forces as a default. 

 

So he managed to tear his gaze away, yet never fully keeping her out of his peripherals. His team would be watching him, waiting for instruction. The goal was to get on the guest list for that evening. And if the queen’s constant attention was any indication, he would have no trouble at all on his end. 

 

The only question was if he could maintain his mission while in close quarters with that accursed woman.

* * *

* * *

 


	3. Sneak Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!WARNING!!!! GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AHEAD!!! CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!
> 
> Thus ends the account of France for the time period. The next chapter will begin with a time and location jump and we will see more smut related chapters, but for now, this great epic is bit centered on war. 
> 
> As always, feedback is loved and appreciated!!!!!

In a darkened ballroom deep within the palace, there continued a celebration that only immortal beings and a few special chosen would be privy to. For the Wandering Queen had come home to her king, and that was not an event to happen more than once every few centuries. The creatures of the night celebrated in a way that would both disgust and entrance mortals, a night filled with blood and desire. Such things go hand in hand. 

 

You scan the room from your new throne, watching as many vampires filled every crack, eagerly awaiting word from their King and their dinners. Like dogs, you thought. Loyal and mindless, all for a an easily found commodity. 

 

They would have no true understanding of your wandering. Their minds were simple and drunk, never feeling at one with their animal, with the true hunger that besets those who go to long without a taste. Decadent and needy, they were young. Too new, too foolish. They hadn't tasted the death of the undying yet. 

 

But you would continue to amuse Michael. Perhaps it was the same weakness that made the others loyal, but you took care to follow the whims of your host. He let you go and welcomed you when you came to him. That was more than most might. 

 

A door to the far right opened with a heavy sound that echoed through the almost too silent ballroom. A small crowd of mortals walked through, in awe of the golden walls and extravagance of this room that rivaled even the one they danced in earlier in the night. This was a room created for Michael, probably by the mindless servants that bloodletting often created. 

 

The room did the intended thing, drawing away the attention of many from the occupants, to the draw of the beautifully crafted walls and ceiling, representing the best France had to offer of artists. Those who weren't so caught up in the splendor, could not deny the shiver that could be watched visibly. The dead tend to have that effect on the living in high numbers. 

 

But you… you shivered yourself, viscerally aware of your chosen walking into the room. His scent immediately overpowered you, and there was no denying the growl that almost escaped you. He would be yours and woe to anyone who would dare come between you. 

 

He looked around, not at the room, but at every occupant, his gaze lighting on almost every vampire contained within the walls, searching for something, someone. Until his eyes rested on you. Your gut immediately clenched and an urge rose within you to tear away his clothing, like a mask hiding him from you. Your hands gripped the armrest of your throne harder to try and maintain control. 

 

If Michael noticed your posture, he did not comment, simply standing from where he had been sitting by your side. He was obviously prepared for some speech you would find tedious in your impatience, so you braced yourself while you kept your prey's gaze. 

 

"Welcome, my friends," Michael greeted warmly, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. "Tonight we celebrated the presence of a much loved addition to our family, the beloved Queen!"

 

A great applause rung out from all of your kind, and it was almost amusing how many humans joined in like the sheep they were. 

 

"She has come back to us after a great many years of travel and discovery. So we find ourselves enjoying her company as we should, with drink and pleasure!" He rewarded, his arms stretched wide in a gesture of giving to his family. They cheered almost immediately, awaiting their prize. 

 

He held his hand to you, and you stood to take it instinctively. "And as our guest of honor, she shall have first pick of our fine selection. Should she request the honor of any of your assistance, know that it is serving your King to make her every wish met." 

 

Michael gestured forward, and you eagerly found yourself walking towards the impossibly enticing gaze of the one man in the room you cared about. Now, the mortals had the intelligence to look afraid, cowering as you came close. But he didn't, the only one left not flinching away. The crowd parted perfectly, and they remained beneath your attention as you held your hand out, to the owner of those caramel eyes. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tom - 

 

He knew there was no way he could bring himself to deny her in any way. Perhaps it was the hypnotism of their species, but he found his goal for night falling to the wayside as he came within touching distance of her. It was deeply probable that there were rules and orders he needed to follow, but he could not for the life of him remember. It was just her.

 

His hand met hers quicker than he could ever remember moving, and she smiled at him rewardingly. But there was no denying the shiver that ran through the both of them at the feeling of his skin against hers. Even if he wasn't in his own skin, it felt like it was truly himself touching her. 

 

An applause ran through the room, and the humans around him even had the strange ability to look jealous at not being chosen, perhaps unaware what was waiting for them. But his soldiers look stoically on, preparing for the worst.

 

There were rumors of the parties that vampires held, said to be filled with death and blood and rotting flesh as the nights ran into the days inside the depths of their castles and dungeons. Tom expected there was much in those stories that were painted gruesomely, but there would be bloodletting tonight. He just prayed his men did not fall to the effects of the monsters filling the room, even as he himself did. 

 

Thankfully, he'd planned for this. He would be a distraction to the King's single best knight in the room. The rest were too young, too inexperienced. But she… she'd been around for longer, seen more and protected the King in battle. If he could only steal her away, keep her attention, then perhaps they'd catch the king off guard. 

 

To his great surprise, she turned from him and gave a simple nod to the King, who gestured to another set of doors on the far side of the ballroom. She immediately began moving towards the doors without catching the eyes of another in the room, much to his thankful heart. It would prove to be difficult to fight her off if necessary, but he did not think he could succeed with more than one. 

 

Once she'd pass the throne room, the King, in all of his disgusting "generosity", beckoned his beasts to do as they wish, and a great noise echoed through the chambers, those of which he would have been unable to find an answer to, before music took over any ambient noises that may have echoed to him. If it wasn't for the impossible need to keep looking at her, he would have looked back to see what had happened. But he couldn't bring himself to. 

 

The doors opened for her by the servants who stood on either side, dressed in perfect mimicry of each other like all the servants of Versailles. Within, a softer light met his gaze, giving off a warm and welcoming feeling after the glare of the gold hues in the large room. She directed the servants that she was not to be disturbed, before guiding him in, her hand still not releasing his. He kept thinking about how soft her skin was, how it glowed in the candle light and beckoned him closer for a taste. 

 

The doors closed behind them with a resounding sound, drowning out the music and conversation, giving way to nothing. A tension rose, a need grew deep within him, something he couldn't wholly understand. 

 

He wanted her. Not for his mission. Maybe it meant something was sincerely sick within him, but he couldn't deny the hunger for her flesh that arose desperately. 

  
  
  
  


Reader - 

 

You looked back, meeting his gaze once more. The room was perfectly suited to your needs for the night, complete with a bed and a bath to be drawn should you ask. Food laid out on a small table for your pet, and you'd asked for this privacy, seeing the need within his gaze. He would not manage the open intimacy that was known on the other side of the doors. 

 

It had been a long time since you'd cared about such things, as night, blood, and pleasure were things well known to your kind. Why refuse to partake of anything and everything in a world of immortality? No, those humans would discover a whole new world of self discovery and pleasure that they'd only imagined before. And they would leave ruined by their other worldly experience. It wouldn't be fair to them as their immortal partners would destroy any pleasure to be found in their human race.

 

Which is why many choose to turn afterwards.

 

But you couldn't deny the own burning in your gut, desire like you've not known overcoming you in delicious ways. If you weren't accustomed to your needs and feelings, you'd have started whimpering and pressing yourself against him. And it took much of your control to not do so. 

 

You found the strength to release his hand, the same feeling of disappointment raging in his face as you were sure yours showed. You gestured to the food sitting off to the side before speaking to him for the first time. 

 

"I had servants bring you food and drink if you are in need of sustenance. I imagine you will need it for the night ahead," you quietly informed, trying to ignore the heat that seemed to build every second. 

 

He shook his head, like he could not understand the concept of food right now. "What does it matter? I could not eat even if I wished?" 

 

You cocked your head to the side, deeply enjoying the way his eyes traced your bare neck with desire. "Does my presence scare away your appetite, my dear sir?" You asked teasingly. 

 

He brought a hand up to brush against the skin of your neck, the back of his knuckles grazing at what had once been a pulse point. Your eyes closed involuntarily, leaning into him with a needy exhale. 

 

"Not at all, your majesty," he assured breathily. "I just find my appetite is much more… carnal at the moment."

 

You could hear the pounding of his heart and it did not call to her the way it normally might have, instead causing a peace to fall over her. He was alive, was filled with life and vibrancy, in a way you'd never know again. But it wasn't offensive as it often was. His mortality almost made him more desirable at that moment.

 

A brush of soft warmth sent electricity through every nerve on your body, his lips leaning in to kiss the same place his hand had just found. You could not hold back the whimper that escaped then, well aware of its echo in the small room. 

 

"The bed may be a more comfortable place to continue, Sir," you breathed, well aware that your normally immovable chest was wantonly stretching to him in the need to feel him there. "Your kind are certainly more fragile than to manage more adventurous fun."

 

"I think…" he began, his lips coming back to your neck  as if he could not stop even if he wished. "... That I am much more capable than you might assume".

 

With that, his hands gripped you close, thrust against his body with a hand around your waist and one ruining the complicated way your hair was pinned, and he kissed you with everything he had to offer. 

 

A kiss is a preliminary, a polite greeting, or a dull gift of inexperienced lovers. You had no desire to be kissed by men and women who used it as a promise of pleasure that they would not deliver. It was simply… sad in the end. 

 

But he… well, it appeared there was no way to stop the need to, the deep, whining need to meet his lips over and over as they danced and fought and owned without request. Both of you were primed and ready if his hard length pressing against you through the thick silk of your skirts, and thought simply slipped completely from your mind. It consumed you like a raging inferno. 

 

You held him just as close, searching for the buttons and openings to get him into you as quickly as possible. There was no denying the impossible heat burning, something you felt was familiar but you couldn't place in your memories. All you knew was need and all you could comprehend was him. 

 

He seemed in no better shape, growling and moaning and seeking the ties to your corset with desperate fingers. A passing thought you managed to grasp was a sincere desire to kill whomever created corsets and determined that you must wear one. 

 

In an impatient move, you ripped your own corset off, the pieces of the whale bone torn apart like paper in your hands. If he seemed surprised by your strength, he did not show it, his hands immediately finding their way under your skirts, deeply seeking your heat. 

 

He'd nearly made it when you were awakened out of your heat by the sharp and horrible scent wafting through the doors. You stilled against him, hoping desperately it was a trick of your traitorous mind, wishing that it would not interrupt your need. 

 

But it remained, even as he delved a finger into your heat, completely unaware that you'd stopped, still stuck in the heat of desire. You found the strength to push him off you and ran to the doors with all the speed you possessed. 

 

"Wha…" he began, dazed and confused.

 

"I smell blood," you growled. "vampire blood and a lot of it." 

 

You opened the doors to a massacre, the once gold room painted crimson. Many of those who were just celebrating your homecoming lay in pieces next to their human prey, just as brutalized as vampire and human mixed. It seemed that it had happened so fast as one man still seemed to have his mouth around a cock and a breast could be found in the mouth of a dismembered head. 

 

It was horrific. There were survivors here and there, shivering and attempting to drink what blood they could to heal, none escaping truly without a mark. 

 

And there, in the middle, stood Michael. 

 

He was covered in blood, but upon closer inspection, it was clear it wasn't his own. Fury raged in his ancient eyes as he tore what appeared to be the body of a wolf in half, the shape morphing into a human, disemboweled gruesomely. The reality of what you were seeing finally hit you.

 

They'd attacked. And you were too preoccupied to help. 

 

You moved to Michael's side immediately, searching for any combatants left, but there was none moving except the desperate gulps of the drinking and the heaving of the dying. His hate filled eyes immediately found you, and he threw his arms around you in a deep sigh of gratitude.

 

"I thought you might have been taken as well in the attack, my dear," he whispered against your temple, not caring for the blood that would be now covering you or your state of undress. 

 

"No, your Queen is safe, Michael," you assured. "Are you well?"

 

He brushed off your concern. "They seem to forget their own mortality every few centuries. It was foolish and suicidal, but I lost many children tonight," he growled, looking over the sea of blood. 

 

"Did you catch them all?" 

 

"No, a few ran after watching me rip through the first three attackers. Had I not been preoccupied, I'd have caught up," Michael answered, his hands gripping you tighter in his rage. 

 

You released him to start your journey searching for the murderers, but he simply pulled you back. A crash to your right resounded through the ballroom as a window exploded, a black form punching through to the outside. The two of you separated and sprinted to the window, seeing a black wolf sprinting towards the distant woods, joining what appeared to be a small pack. 

 

The awareness of what you'd just saw hit you, realizing that you could have been among the dead that night, seeing the form of a face changer running where there had been no one left… except the man in your room. 

 

A growl escaped your lips and you almost shifted right therr into your beast, seeking revenge on who would dare to put your life or Michael's in danger. 

 

But once again, he pulled you back. "Not tonight. We shall face them again on more equal footing. For now, we must appreciate that they had failed. And their own masters will be their consequence," he ordered, keeping you in your place. 

 

You hated when he did that. You weren't a child, weren't one of his young children or subjects, you'd been a soldier in his war as long as you could remember. And some part of yourself could not deny the need to follow that impossible face changer, not because he had presented revenge, but because of that same need deep within your belly that did not dissipate, despite knowing he was the enemy. 

 

Michael pulled you into his arms, his face seeking your own while his body moved you to the room that you'd just found yourself in, the room that blocked the horrors away. Time had completely disappeared while you were there, but it seemed now only minutes when it had been much longer. That was the nature of the desire that had taken over. You kissed and touched him and still you could not find your fill. 

 

Michael laid you on the bed, placing himself between your legs urgently. "Grant me my fill, my Queen. I deeply desire the assurance of your flesh after the horrors beheld tonight."

 

And thus, you gave. It was not that it wasn't particularly pleasurable or that Michael wasn't considerate or wonderful. But the heat was not consuming, the need all entrapping. And you ached for the terrible face changer you'd possibly never come into contact with again. And how would you know except for the heat and desire that beckoned to over take you. 

 

As he thrust into your depths, the wonder of his body meeting every place of electricity within your own, you could not help but imagine the faceless man who'd inspired such desire. And perhaps you'd been given a glimpse of these impossibly blue eyes that haunted you as your eyes closed to the pleasure. 

 

You would find him again. Even if you had to walk into the very camp of the enemy and tear through their forces. And you would know him by the heat that arose immediately. 


	4. Egypt is not for Vampires

July 19th, 1798 Cairo, Egypt

  
  
  


Egypt was exceptionally hot this time of year, and certainly not the most pleasant place to be as part of the immortals, but you intended to do what you could in the face of invasion. You rode into Cairo with Napoleon's forces only a few days behind, well aware that your help could mean the difference between success and failure. The last thing Egypt needed was Cairo taken like Alexandria. 

 

The Mamluk Calvary was unrivaled, but Napoleon was a great commander and not one to be ignored. Even the greatest of armies had fallen before his capable strategy. 

 

The sun beat down even through the coverings of your clothing, choosing to continue with the traditions of the Sunni Islam modesty required of women, knowing fully that it would require more than mere charm to win over the ear of the infamous Murãd Bey. In such a culture as this, the voice of woman may often struggle to be heard, though it was a common issue found in any culture where men sat in power. 

 

The arid wind offered no refuge from the heat, only bitterly biting into the flesh with blowing sand. This was no place for the vampire, and yet, here you found yourself. Still following the call of your soul, even to places you should never go. 

 

When you were greeted with respect, you knew that a letter from Michael had preceded your arrival. Last correspondence you shared, he had requested for your presence in Cairo, and you had almost declined, except for the desire in your heart to go. And so you came, a fish gasping for water as you so gasped for a reprieve from the ever present sun. 

 

A group of Mamluk soldiers led you to your quarters for the night, nothing of great note, but you were given a room to await your meeting with Murãd Bey. At the very least it provided shelter from the ever present sun. 

 

Napoleon needed to be defeated as he presented an extensive arm of the changelings, a dominative force that took whatever stood against them. You did not know if that strength would be found in Egypt, but there would come a land that Napoleon could not take in his conquest. 

 

Perhaps if you warned them, they would have time to prepare adequately. The French forces were rather ravaged, between dehydration and sickness, but Napoleon's greatest weapon was his mind. He was extraordinarily outnumbered, but caution must be afforded. 

 

Your time in solitude did not continue foran extended time, still leaving you wishing for a reprieve. The sun sapped strength and increased thirst in those who lived eternal. To most, it was deadly, but among the privileged and old, it was a mere hidderance. 

 

The guards led you to a grand room, filled to the brim with royalty and commanders, preparing for an evening feast. Along every wall stood servants prepared to serve their masters. And it was to them your eyes were drawn. 

 

A room filled with the wealth of the Sultan, the beauty of Egypt of full display to the eyes of a newcomer, and yet, there was little of interest to you. An eternity of seeing wealth had numbed it's splendor, and you could not ignore that draw of those hiding in the corners, covered in darkness, only touched by the glow of the lamps.

 

One male servant found a space for you to join the table, much to the shock of many guests. A woman, sitting at the table of royalty was nearly sacrilegious. If Michael had not thought to remove his protection, this simple action might have cost your head. 

 

Murãd Bey nodded his head towards your person, accepting the placement despite the disgust not so well hidden in his gaze. The man himself seemed decently fit despite his age, the full beard of his an almost perfect white colored, curled and styled like many other men around her. He was clothed with all the pomp of his title, as commander of the Mamluk forces and coruler, Ibrahim Bey. A man well respected for his consistent victories over the Ottoman incursions into his land. 

 

Perhaps if you'd been offered as a sacrificial lamb, a new wife to the general, the Mamluk general would not be so angered. And it was not as if you had never been offered as such. 

 

A time from long ago drifted to the front of your mind as you mindlessly ate what little seemed appropriate. A time before Michael had so many pawns doing his bidding. Diplomacy was a constant difficulty when men lived such short lives. Many King paid for your dowry, a gift from the vampire king to win over new lands. What they would not see coming was a wedding night filled with fresh blood and turning instead of the passion they envisioned. 

 

It wasn't until recent centuries that Michael found a way to permeate the Arab nations, when such a region was difficult on any immortal who ventured into the desert. But after a particular encounter with a witch woman from the Orient, the king himself ventured into unknown territories and gained new power. 

 

Eyes fixed on you throughout the room, something you had come to expect as you broke their rules and disrespected their traditions, yet it was only one gaze that made you feel as if you were truly being watched. A being who knew you truly. Not just the creature lying under the surface of your skin. 

 

It was of those who waited on the walls. That much you were sure of. Yet, you found you could not pinpoint the gaze. A familiar scent filled your head, managing to beat even the heavy spices that wafted from the food placed around you. And yet, you found your senses dulled. 

 

Perhaps it was the ever present sun that causes such issues in your abilities. Pressing onward, cleansing your palate with a sip of wine, it would be time to address the general. 

 

"Murãd Bey", you announced, allowing your small voice to ring through the space, seated near enough to the general to be heard. A low gasp echoed from a few, though you paid them no mind. They held no respect for your titles, so you showed them no respect for theirs. "We must discuss what I came to share."

 

The man in question paused his eating with a particular glare to your disrespect. But you would not be admonished. There was no time for diplomacy, the evidence of your impatience to leave the cursed land in your hurried actions. 

 

"We do not discuss war with women," was the only answer you received, a clear admonishment to stand down 

 

You gauged your strength after many days through the desert. It was not enough to fend off the invasion itself, but should any mortal here threaten your safety, you had strength enough to protect your being. 

 

"Then Napoleon shall take the land," you announced, watching as guards placed hands on swords, eager to please their masters. "They are but days away to the pyramids and you sit here, eating with ease. The Mamluk's will lose Cairo because you could not talk war with a woman."

 

A form filled your periphery, filling your glass once again. Strangely, it distracted you for but a moment, and the difficulty to place that scent once more filled your brain. Sipping at your wine glass did not seem to help either. 

 

Bey drank deeply from his own glass, a servant woman immediately filling it when he sat it down. "My Calvary is unstoppable. Let the French man come. He will be cut down and the sands will soak with his blood."

 

"I have been sent to warn you. The King would not have requested my presence if there was not cause for concern," you attempted to convince. It seemed that only the general and the Sultan knew Michael's name, if you were to properly interpret the faces around the table. 

 

"Your presence is unnecessary," was the only response you were given. Guards drew their swords, clearly threatening violence should you continue your disrespect. 

 

"Then may your souls find mercy in Jahannam." You stood in defiance, knowing full well that such an accusation would mean your life according to custom. Yet the guards had not time to surge forward before you flew out of the room. A show of strength and immortality would sow enough fear to keep them from pursuing. 

 

Encountering no one of consequence, you returned to the room you were given before, seeking rest before once again venturing into the desert. It would be best to travel during the night hours as far as you could make it, but you needed to feed to regain strength. 

 

A wave of exhaustion fell as if speed you exuded had sapped any vitality you once had. The unfamiliar feeling of weakness overcame you, forcing you to lower yourself to the floor, unable to stand any longer.

 

Your mind became fogged and slow, unable to reason or comprehend what was occuring. This was not simply a result of exposure to the cursed sun. No, this was something more, a taste you had not experienced, something you may have caught before if you weren't already weak.

 

A whimper filled the room and it seemed far away, distant almost. It barely registered under the heavy feeling that your body was succumbing to. Any of those you have just deeply offended and committed sacrilege against could find you and take advantage of whatever you'd consumed. 

 

A figure stepped within the field of your vision which was currently trained on the blank walks of your room. It was a woman dressed in the black coverings required by her religion. And yet, the scent from before filled the room once more, bringing untold peace to your frantic mind. You could trust this woman. 

 

It was a strange instinct to feel so sure of as a blade was pressed against your jugular. The sensation of being straddled just barely cut through the fog, a heat building within your pelvis at the pressure. 

 

The face above yours was deeply unfamiliar, but still recognition sparked somewhere within your darkened mind. That draw that never seemed to escape you like a string tugging from within your chest that connected to hers. You were at her complete mercy, and yet no fear was to be found. 

 

Indecision crossed her features, and blade wavered against your skin, never cutting despite its sharp edge. An assassin must be intentional when killing an immortal. They are not an easy life to take. 

 

After an what seemed an age, the blade was thrown to the side and a pair of soft lips met your own. Another whimper echoed, but it didn't seem to escape from your throat. The need, the  _ hunger _ , was enough to spur even your exhausted body into what movement it could manage, your mouth opening with a welcome sigh under her skilled administrations. How your hands ached to run the length of her body, to find what those clothes hid, to reveal the flesh beneath. 

 

_ Mate,  _ your mind purred, something you could not quite understand or place, but it still resounded through the dulled thoughts, the only words that made sense any longer. 

 

Those blessed lips left your own in a sudden movement, the pressure of the body against yours suddenly gone, leaving a torturous ache within you, a need left unfulfilled. Your fingers clenched at your sides, wishing for the strength to find her warmth once more. 

 

Somewhere, the banging sound of bodies hitting each other reached through your senses. Voices speaking of nonsense did not register beyond a minor buzz. Unconsciousness teased at the edges of your vision, black void filling the image in front of you until your mind descended into nothing. 

  
  
  


Thomas 

  
  
  
  


"What are you doing, Thomas? You were supposed to kill her before the vervain wears off!" Arya admonished, angry as she removed herself from where she had tackled him.

 

He shook his head, trying to control the urge to take his place on top of the vampire once more. The need, unlike anything he ever felt, always seemed to take over his mind when he was in her presence. As much as he trusted Arya's confidence, it would be a suicide pact to be caught with a vampire. So control he found. 

 

"I need answers, Arya. How she continued to find me, from Haiti to the most remote parts of Africa, she's followed me. No vampire could track that well," Thomas pleaded, hoping for understanding from his closest confidant. 

 

"We don't have time for this!" She answered, ignoring his request. The sharp sound of her blade being drawn echoed through the room and Thomas could not explain the panic that immediately flowed through him. 

 

Then something extraordinary occured. Thomas found himself protecting the body of the vampire with his own, shielding her unconscious body from his partner's blade. He could not recall ever considering the action, it simply happened instinctually. 

 

Arya paused her blow just an inch from his heart testing his resolve. Thomas may be in a different body, but their training allows a knowledge of anatomy that held the blade directly over his heart. Of course, she was one of the best, only second to his own skill. 

 

"Move, Thomas," she ordered, glaring at him. 

 

"No," he growled, the sound almost strange in the female vocal chords. But she could not deny the resolve that resounded in the sound. 

 

With a small scream of frustration, Arya put her blade back in his holster, unwilling to kill her friend and partner. Thomas relaxed minutely, but was still wary of what might occur. Arya wasn't exactly kind to the abominations. Though, neither was he under normal circumstances. 

 

Arya shifted forms, turning into one of the guards she had come into contact with, a rather burly man that had more hair that Thomas thought would ever be comfortable. Then she picked up the sleeping vampire Queen as gingerly as she could manage. 

 

"If she wakes before we get her shackled and she kills the both of us, I will personally harass you for eternity," Arya complained, her voice now deep and gruff.

 

Thomas pulled a covering over his face, making sure his identity was hidden once more before leading the strange trio out of the Cairo palace. No one bothered to stop the strange group, assuming perhaps that the woman in the guard's arms was dead for her insolence. Only an immortal would be so foolish as to openly disrespect the rule of men. Face changers were forced into diplomacy for their pawns. 

 

He reflected on the strange circumstances that lead him to this moment, seeking refuge in a small hobble with the strange woman. Exiled on a possible suicide mission, simply because of this wandering Queen, possibly the greatest tracker to ever exist, and a fixation on him. Many years he spent running, but after Versailles, when he had gotten too close, had almost fucked her like one of the mind controlled servants of the damned, she could recognize him. Even now, as a woman so very opposite of the French man she'd seen, as she was drugged and subdued, she still desired him. 

 

The journey to the small home was quick, as they ducked through alleyways and windows, speeding through Cairo without drawing attention. The house would have everything they might need, a home created for diplomatic missions to Egypt. The Ottoman Empire had been very welcoming to their kind, but it had been many years since Egypt sat in the hands of the Face Changers. But all would be as it should be after Napoleon took Cairo. 

 

Thomas frowned as Arya placed the queen down roughly in a chair that sat in direct sunlight, something that should have caused her immense pain, but nothing happened. Only silence filled the room, the unmoving chest worrying him though he knew her kind did not need to breathe. 

 

Arya placed silver cuffs around her wrists, and there they waited for the Queen to awaken once more. For they had many questions once she did. Perhaps Thomas more than Arya. Why did she seek him out, and what… what happened to him when she was around? 

 

What magic made him desire her above all else? 


	5. What Answers I Have are Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A LITTLE GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENE.
> 
> It's not super graphic, but I don't want anyone dealing with triggers because I didn't take the time to warn you guys. 
> 
> The next chapter will be a flash back, taking us back to the first time Thomas and the reader ever met. I wasn't sure fully how I wanted to flesh it out, but it will be completely from Tom's perspective. And I'm totally taking lots of inspiration for the next chapter from The Hollow Crown.
> 
> As always, feedback is loved and appreciated!!!

Thomas

  
  
  
  


The trusted blade wielded by his partner cut into the vampire's skin over and over, intended to cause pain. Arya was an excellent torturer and had never encountered a single creature she could not break. 

 

Until she met the Queen. 

 

The skin that was split quickly healed, leaving only a drop of blood where each incision was made. Not only did her body show no sign of the torture, but neither did she. There was not a single flinch of pain throughout the ordeal. She just stared on, unbothered. 

 

Arya's frustration was mounting. It would not be long before the vervain left the abomination's system and when it did, not even the sharpest of her blades would pierce the skin. They would not be able to contain the Queen should she choose to fight. This was the distinct reason why torturing a vampire was never attempted. 

 

Arya cut a long slit on the right side of the Queen's ribs, a precise and deep cut before growling out another question that would not be answered. In fact, the Queen looked absolutely untouchable even in her weakness. Seeing the damage done to her was hard for him to bear, in truth. He had to look away each time she was cut into. 

 

"How do you keep finding us? Who is your source?" Arya asked, putting pressure on the quickly closing wound. 

 

The Queen smiled down at her, dark amusement in her eyes. "I honestly have no idea what you are talking of, changeling."

 

Another deep cut to the other side of her ribs, both hands digging into the cut to prolong the pain. "Try again, abomination."

 

"Is that meant to hurt?" The Queen asked incredulously. "Here I thought you were supposed to be rather good at this. Are changelings really so uneducated about their sworn enemies?"

 

Arya pulled her hands away to deliver a hard blow to her prisoner's face. The Queen didn't even move, like a child had tapped her face instead of being delivered a hard blow. The smirk on her face only widened and the skin knit itself back together where the matching slices had been. 

 

And so on the torture went. Arya never got a single answer she sought and Thomas couldn't bring himself to cause the woman pain. In fact, the very thought made him sick to his stomach. The Queen would not answer the questions and was immovable in her resolve. Either they had to flee the area and seek shelter from a rampaging vampire, or continue to risk her strength returning. 

 

As dusk turned into dawn, fresh sunlight streamed through the window. Arya, in her final attempt, stripped the vampire of her protective clothing and moved the chair so she sat in the direct sunlight. The Queen looked thoroughly amused, like a mother watching a child playing. 

 

"Really? You come at me with tricks of silver and sunlight? Did I not just traverse the desert for weeks to get here?" She asked, a wide smile playing on her face. "What interesting information you have. How long has it been since you last tried to contain my kind, much less kill them without ripping our heads from our shoulders?"

 

Arya growled, frustration seeping into her stance. She was losing the battle, and if the torturer lost to the tortured, there was nothing to gain. Thomas caught her attention and nodded, letting her know that he would take over the watch. 

 

The Queen watched the exchange with rapt attention, taking in how Arya's shoulders slumped with exhaustion, how Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. Arya left the room, probably seeking rest and sustenance, leaving just himself the Queen alone. 

 

He could not bare to look at the blood stains that now littered the Queen's clothing, nor the single trails of blood that he could see drawn on her revealed skin. The ploy with the sunlight caused a distinct new issue: now the Queen was in a state of undress, left only in her underclothes and he found it horribly distracting. 

 

"If you would but answer our questions, you would be set free," Thomas said, his voice sounding more hoarse than he intended. Her presence was a weakness for him. One he could not overlook it seemed. 

 

The Queen cocked her head slightly, taking him in. "If they were your questions alone, I would gladly answer. But I do not seek damage to my people."

 

And there was the statement he instinctively knew. He knew she would talk to him. He knew that it would not require pain or torture to convince her to open up, but for the sake of his safety, it was important to pretend when others are in the room. Thomas had no interest in going through retraining. 

 

"But they are my questions," Thomas rebutted, knowing his lie was futile even before it left his lips. "These are answers I seek."

 

The Queen did not bother answering, her gaze trained on him, awaiting the questions that so deeply disturbed him. Things she would happily answer only for his sake. The draw to her was a constant invisible pull that did not like being ignored. 

 

Thomas ran a hand through his hair, now short and dark blonde since he had transformed into his original body. "Then tell me why you have sought me out? How do you keep finding me, no matter where I go?"

 

"I wasn't aware I was seeking you," the Queen answered, squinting a little in confusion. "I simply wander. If our paths cross so much it must be pure coincidence."

 

"It's not." Of that, Thomas was completely sure. Every place he went, she would find him, give or take a year. He'd spent much time wandering as well, hoping to find a single land where she could not follow. He had not been successful. 

 

The Queen studied him intently. "I give you my word that I am not tracking you. Any coinciding of location is pure happenstance," she assured with no small amount of apology in her voice. 

 

"Does the king send you to many lands? What is his purpose in having you explore the world as an extension of him?" Thomas pressed.

 

"Those aren't your own questions, but I will still answer," she said, giving him a slightly admonishing look. "The King gives me free reign to do as I wish. Diplomatic missions are rare and will only occur if he knows I'm already in a strategic area. As it was, I was spending time in Georgia when I was asked to come here."

 

"I know. I was in Georgia as well, having only left weeks before there were reported sightings of you."

 

She paused, considering the facts he just handed her. "I cannot give you answers I do not have. I am following something I cannot describe to even those of my kind, as I have been asked why for centuries. Perhaps we have a connection I cannot explain."

 

"How do you recognize me then?" Thomas changed directions, attempting for some answers. "It seems that you have found me no matter what form I take. No vampire has ever been to see through the disguises before."

 

After a deep breath and a moment of consideration, she trained her gaze back on him. "I suppose, it may be your scent. It never changes, no matter who you look like. Had it not been for feeling weak when I first arrived, I would have had an easier time pinpointing your location in the room."

 

Thomas felt a stroke of panic run through him. Face Changers could change every single cell in their body that there is not a distinct feature, including scent, that is the same. If his scent was not affected, he may be losing his abilities. 

 

"So you don't understand why you've followed me since we first encountered each other and you recognize me by a scent I should not have?" Thomas surmised, frustration skipping through at the lack of true answers. 

 

The Queen nodded definitively, but somehow, she came across as apologetic. "I cannot explain what happened in Versailles, but I recognize that something must have happened between us."

 

"Versailles?" Thomas interrupted. "You have been following me since long before Paris. Since Romania at the King's castle."

 

The Queen stilled completely, looking completely lost at his reference. Thomas pushed a little further, trying to help her recall the day they first met. 

 

"It was the day I wore no face, that you saw me in this form?"

  
  
  


Reader

  
  
  
  


You could not comprehend what your changeling was referring to. His scent was familiar, he felt like home and comfort, but you had just as little recognition for the face he wore since you'd awoken as every other face you'd seen. 

 

Looking at him, seeking anything to help jog your memory, you took in his appearance. Dirty blonde curls were shorn close to his head, framing his tall forehead elegantly. Piercing blue eyes followed your every movement. Roman features, thin lips and a long neck. An extremely attractive man, to be sure, but you had no comprehension of meeting him before. 

 

"I have no memory of this face, changeling," you whispered softly. 

 

The stunned look on his face was enough to have you consider lying just to soothe the panic hiding behind his eyes. "This is the face I was born with. Is it normal for vampires to forget their history as they walk through eternity?"

 

"Not as far as I know," you answered. "Why don't you tell me how you remember our first meeting?" 

 

Thomas took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, and you prepared yourself for his story.

  
  



End file.
